


Terror from the skies

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, No Smut, PTSD John, Scared John, Storms, Thunder - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 20:56:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15469884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: A loud rumble of thunder had John down on the floor. His head low, his arms over his head as he crawled his way under the table and clenched himself into as small a shape as he could.He needed to get out. He couldn't get out.“John...” a voice said softly to his left, a deep, mellow voice which John recognised as Sherlock.“No. No. No” John repeated, whispering and clenching his eyes closed.“It's alright, John” Sherlock was responding, seemingly repeating the same phrase over and over “It's alright. You're alright. It's alright now.”





	Terror from the skies

**Author's Note:**

> It was very stormy last night and the sound made me think of poor John having an episode. 
> 
> I will probably keep this as a one-shot, but if anyone wants to write more - you're welcome!
> 
> Not beta'd

Grey clouds hung heavy and foreboding over London, threatening a torrential downpour at any minute. The country had sweltered in a heatwave, global warming combined with an unusually hot summer had resulted in a seemingly constant temperature which had the country sweating.

John didn't mind the sunshine. He didn't like the clouds.

Standing at the window of Baker Street, John bit his thumbnail and felt the first tendrils of panic beginning as the huge, heavy droplets of rain began to fall. Pattering against the window noisily, they were soon coming thick and fast, drenching London's scorched pavements and making the canopy of Speedy's tinkle with each droplet.

Inhaling deeply, John focussed on his breathing. He would not give into panic. He would not allow his war-torn mind to become overwhelmed. He knew it was just the weather. He understood -

The first peel of lightning made John jump and made his eyes widen in terror. Flashbacks of the army rushed at him, throwing him back into those awful, terrible situations where survival was luck of the draw and safety was nowhere to be found.

A loud rumble of thunder had John down on the floor. His head low, his arms over his head as he crawled his way under the table and clenched himself into as small a shape as he could.

He needed to get out. _He couldn't get out._

“John...” a voice said softly to his left, a deep, mellow voice which John recognised as Sherlock.

“No. No. No” John repeated, whispering and clenching his eyes closed.

“It's alright, John” Sherlock was responding, seemingly repeating the same phrase over and over “It's alright. You're alright. It's alright now.”

Another flash, a closer boom of thunder and John was rocking, tears flooding his cheeks as he shook his head trying to clear away the memory of the young Welsh lad who was trying to reach his legs without realising he didn't have any arms left.

“John...” Sherlock said softly, crouched by the side of the table but not coming too close. Treating John like a wounded animal, afraid he might snap.

“Please, Sherlock...” John cried out, putting his hands over his ears “Please make it go away...”

There was a moment quiet, interrupted only by the steady pounding of the rain against the glass. The rain had reached the back of the house now, hitting against the bins. It sounded like gunfire.

“I can't,” Sherlock answered after a short time, “I can't stop it, but I can promise that you're safe. You're safe at home, John. You'll always be safe. I won't let anything happen to you.”

John whimpered, ducking his head as another rumble seemed to run through the floorboards “I'm afraid” he replied, sobbing uncontrollably now, “Don't let them hurt me, Sherlock. Please.”

“Shhh now,” Sherlock soothed, reaching in to touch John only to pull his hand back after consideration, “Nobody will get you. I won't let them.”

The next flash of lightning had John crying out and throwing his arm out, grabbing Sherlock by the collar and half dragging him under the table. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was a comfort for John, or whether his addled mind was trying to protect Sherlock from the perceived dangers of his exhausted brain. Either way, Sherlock allowed himself to be dragged under the table, only managing to get half of his body under the small space until he was crushed up against John's side.

“It's alright, I'm here” Sherlock murmured, reaching to take John's hand in his. John was trembling, shaking like a leaf as he gripped Sherlock tightly, “I'm not going to leave you. I'll stay here”

“I don't like it,” John whispered, his voice so small and sad that for a moment Sherlock felt a lump explode in his throat, it took half a dozen swallows until the suspicious lump allowed him to swallow around it, “I'm scared.”

Sherlock had never known John to be scared of anything.

John was the bravest person that Sherlock had ever met, he even volunteered to get spiders out of the bath for Mrs Hudson.

“I know,” Sherlock replied, his other hand tracing patterns across John's knuckles “It'll be over soon. You're alright”

It had taken almost forty minutes for the worst of the storm to pass. Sherlock had remained under the table, his hand clasped into John's as the doctor jumped and cursed, occasionally crying and at one point shouting out a name which Sherlock didn't recognise. Sherlock stayed calm, mumbling rubbish under his breath to take John's mind from the noises outside and eventually managed to coax John halfway from the table until the thunder rumbled and had him retreat back into the safety of his shelter.

An hour later the storm had passed. The temperature felt cooler, no longer stifling hot after the air had been cleared and John finally found the courage to shuffle out into the living room, his eyes darting left and right for danger.

“I'll make tea,” Sherlock said, attempting to take his hand from John's only to be stopped when the older man refused and tightened his hold. Sherlock barely reacted, simply walked them carefully to the kitchen where he made tea using only one hand.

Unable to stop himself shaking, John couldn't manage to hold his tea and so Sherlock focussed his energy on helping John to drink, wrapping his hand around the mug and lifting it to John's face so the parched doctor could take a few sips. John's face was red and streaked with tears, his eyes bloodshot from the stress of his PTSD episode.

“Careful now,” Sherlock hummed, helping John to take a few more sips before he put the cup down, “Would you like to go to bed?”

John nodded nervously, eyes flicking around the room and then to Sherlock.

Sherlock knew immediately what John was concerned about. On the first occasion that John had had an episode, he had explained afterwards that he couldn't sleep in his own room on the second floor. There was only one exit, and John needed to have escape routes in case of an emergency.

Sherlock's room, on the other hand, had three. The main door, the door to the bathroom and then the bedroom window which led to the emergency stairs. Sherlock hadn't hesitated as he offered his bed to John, and John was thankful as he immediately curled into Sherlock's bedcovers, making himself a nest with the blankets before falling into a medicated sleep.

Reaching into the biscuit cupboard, Sherlock pulled out the sedatives which John kept for this very purpose. He didn't need them very often – he barely had any episodes anymore – but when he did, he would take the pills and sleep.

Helping John to take his medication, Sherlock coaxed John to take more tea before they walked to his bedroom. Thankfully, Sherlock always kept his bedroom well organised and clean so there wasn't a lot to move – which could have been difficult with only one hand.

Normally when John slept in Sherlock's bed he did it alone, but tonight he was hesitant to drop their hands and he stood nervously, swapping from foot to foot as he cleared his throat “would you...”

“Of course,” Sherlock answered without John needing to ask,

Pulling back the covers to the bed, Sherlock allowed John to sit on the mattress before he began helping John to undress. Shoes and socks first, then John's jumper which forced them to unclasp their hands, and then finally John's jeans. The older man sat trembling in his pants, looking up at Sherlock who was still fully dressed.

“I – Id like skin to skin,” John said nervously, blushing and looking down “Makes me feel grounded”

Sherlock gave a single nod and then stripped with haste. Throwing his clothes to the floor before walking around the room to climb in the other side. It felt odd being in bed with another person, especially undressed, but Sherlock pulled the covers up to his shoulders and opened his arms, allowing John to climb inside and curl up around his side. Resting his head on Sherlock's heart, John relaxed as he listened to the rhythmic beats, almost putting him in a trance as he listened to the  _ bah-dum, bah-dum  _ sounds.

“He was nineteen” John began, his hand moving to run up Sherlock's other side, trailing his thumb over Sherlock's ribs “He was a child. He shouldn't have even been there.”

Sherlock let John speak. Allowed him to tell the sad tales which haunted him.

“It was an ambush. We couldn't escape. Sixteen men killed, eight injured. Myself included,” John said softly, moving his leg to touch Sherlock's.

“You're alive, you're alright,” Sherlock said, his first words since they had entered the bedroom.

“What about that kid though,” John said sadly, “He should be here. He should have a life. Meet someone, fall in love, have a kid and live to be old.”

Sherlock stayed silent. He didn't have the answer to that question.

“I should have died instead of him. He was a good kid” John whispered, words slowly becoming slurred as the medication worked its way through his system.

“Id have died if you had died,” Sherlock said sincerely, “Maybe not immediately, maybe not even with the poisoned pill – but eventually I would have done something stupid that killed me. You being here has saved my life – and because of that, we save other people too.”

“Mmm” John frowned, rubbing his face against Sherlock's skin, “S'true”

“Sleep now, John” Sherlock insisted, unable to resist reaching down to kiss the top of John's head “I'll stay here.”

“You protec' me” John slurred, hand tightening on Sherlock's side.

“Always,” Sherlock promised.


End file.
